A Stupid, Boring Day
by HoT.aGaiNsT.a.WaLL
Summary: It was just a stupid, boring day until I got on the bus to go home.


**Disclaimer: Yeah… if I owned it… I wouldn't know what to do with it.**

It was just another _boring_ day…

Another boring day at a _stupid_ school.

Stupid, goddamned school… I mean, who wants to hang around with a bunch of idiots during breaks between classes full of boring teachers and bitchie students?

_No one!_

Funniest thing ever, is that I actually used to _enjoy_ school. That's right, I'll admit it! School was _fun_! Emphasis on the 'was'. It was a place where I could learn new and fascinating things, _and_ hang out with friends. Nowadays, with hormones raging, everyone's just so _different_. Boys are arrogant jerks who just want in your pants, and almost every girl you meet talks behind your back the second you're not looking.

Back to my boring day at school.

Let me tell you, it was yawn-worthy. First period went by in a flash- Drama's easy. Simple and actually, sort of, fun.

Second period with the Chuck Norris impersonator! I swear to god, they could be twins. He didn't really teach much about Government, today—not that he ever really _does_. He was far too busy snapping at all of the other students, and making corny jokes. He is kind of funny, but the laughter from the students is few and far between.

Then, came break. The much needed fresh air and stretching of the limbs. Although, it would have been better without Claudia complaining about her on-again-off-again boy toy. David and I had shared knowing looks, but the petit woman didn't catch on. Not in the least.

Third period was awful. An ex-French teacher teaching us AP Statistics? It was a recipe for disaster—and not the yummy chocolate kind you get from Applebee's.

Fourth period. Advanced art. Even though I'm pretty much positive that Mrs. Hill smokes pot, like, three times a day—she doesn't offer up any to the students. At least, not during school hours. So, that class was just as tedious as any other day.

Lunch came next. I played third wheel with David and Chad, tagging along behind them as we cruised the city streets, looking for the closest and cheapest fast food joint. I was getting sick of them dancing around each other everyday, like they weren't completely head-over-heals for one another. But playing Cupid wasn't on my to-do list, so I let it be as they openly flirted over burgers and fries.

Fifth period had come too quickly… I was late by nearly ten minutes, and Mr. Keller had never looked so pissed in his life. Though, I can't blame him. Without Kyle or me there he would never have anyone to call on. Not saying that the rest of the class is compiled of imbeciles, but they aren't exactly involved with their classes anymore. Senoritus was a deadly little bug.

Sixth was a breeze. Dancing was generally a mindless thing once you got the movements down, and following the beat always took my mind off of any stresses. It was good to end the day with a little bit of physical activity, and getting all sweaty was a small price to pay, in the long run.

Finally, here I am, sitting on my school bus because my mother was too busy 'working' to come get me. That's code for drunk off her ass. Something I've gotten used to coming home to, at least the one week I stay with her a month. But my parent's divorce is a completely different traumatic event; one that doesn't need rehashing.

But I'm sitting there, fidgeting in my seat as the yellow beast rolls on. The bus doesn't have too many kids on it—a lot of them are underclassmen—but I'm the only one sitting by myself. The only one that they deliberately avoid sitting next to when they board.

I'm not ugly. Blonde haired and green eyed, tall and tan, and pretty goddamn gorgeous if you ask anyone that isn't completely intimidated by me. Not that I mean to scare people off, but I guess it's just my _oh-so-outgoing_ personality that really _draws_ them in like flies. Sarcasm hopefully noted.

I mean, it's not like I'm a pariah, or anything. People just tend to be uneasy around me. Rumors are nasty little things, and nearly the entire school knows about my less than stellar background. I'm fortunate to go to a large enough school that I'm able to have friends who can put up with my strange tendencies, but unfortunate that it is _just_ small enough to not offer the anonymity I so often craved.

It sucks to have everyone and their mother thinking you're some whack-job.

The bus rolls to a slow stop at a red light, and I let my eyes close for the briefest of moments. My head hurts, but that's pretty much normal after an exceptionally average day at school. With a tired sigh, I let my eyes flutter open—only to have them widen comically at the sight before me.

The driver has his hands up, shaking, as he stares cross-eyed at the double barrel shotgun pointed in his face. There are three men standing at the front of the bus, all very well armed, and very dangerous looking. Then other teens around me are in a panic, buzzing with fear as they huddle together in their seats, staring up at the oddly masked men like deer in the headlights.

I briefly wonder why I didn't hear the familiar hissing of the door when a queer chuckle echoes from somewhere behind me. I twist around in my seat, as do many of the other students, to take in our newest bus-mate. I quickly realize that they must have entered through the emergency exit at the back. But the realization makes my gut plummet as another one comes tumbling right after it—telling me just how much trouble we're in. A small voice tells me to keep my mouth shut and not attract any unwanted attention.

Other voices, not ones of my own, scream at me to do all sorts of things. But I'm used to ignoring those, by now.

I let my gaze drift over the man before us. His suit looked freshly pressed and completely rumpled, all at the same time. A sickly green vest, that sadly matches the color of his hair, is peeking out from underneath a garish purple suit. His face is smeared with war paint, but everyone's gazes are mostly drawn the crookedly smiling mouth that is coated in a fire engine red. He looks just like the man that had appeared so often in the newspapers merely a month before. Just like the monster that had plummeted Gotham City into complete chaos, before being caught by the Batman and sent to Arkham Asylum.

I let myself ponder how he'd managed to escape such a high security place, for a moment, but quickly refocused on the matter at hand. There are men with guns on board, and even though they are dressed like clowns, it appears to be no laughing matter.

"Hel—_lo_, kiddies. Sorry for the, uh, _intrusion_, but we'll be taking a different route today." He chortles as if he knows something we don't, and I'm fairly confident that he does. "Grumpy? Please, remove the driver from his, um, _station_."

I watch in silence as 'Grumpy' jerks the driver to his feet with a harsh tug. Apprehension boils through me as the other two masked men file down the isle as their partner opens the main door with the fluid ease of someone who's dealt with busses before. He shoves the driver down the few steps onto the asphalt, and then quickly reseals the doors.

He slips in behind the steering wheel, and with the engine still puttering, hits the gas. That's when the screaming begins. Because we're being kidnapped, and obviously the rational part of some of my peers' brains that tells them to _shut up_ has completely shut off. They're all blind and stupid in their fear, and that just lowers the already low odds of survival.

My head starts pounding, and I hear the gunfire long before they actually pull the triggers. Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dummer are shouting at us, telling us to keep our mouths shut. Telling us not to do anything stupid. Telling us that, if we cooperate, no one will get hurt.

I know that it's a lie, but the other kids find comfort in the statement.

A plethora of angry and scared voices fill my head, and I'm momentarily swallowed up in it. Consumed by it. My breath hitches in my chest, and I clench my fists so tightly in my lap, that my nails bite into the palms of my hands. The pain is a good distraction from the gut clenching terror. A good distraction from the obvious threat that looms overhead. A good distraction from my own madness.

I flex my hands in my lap, to keep from causing anymore trauma to the tender flesh there, and I keep my gaze securely down. I have enough problems, and I don't need to add a gunshot wound to the constantly growing pile. I hear an annoying buzz of whispers from the other kids around me, and I wince as Tweedle-Dum fires again.

"Would you brats _shut up_, already?" A gruff voice comes from behind that vividly colored mask. If only he could make their brains go quite as fast as he could their mouths.

The Joker—and it's still hard to grasp that the madman has us in his grasp- hits him upside the head harshly, hissing something under his breath. He faces us again, suddenly, with a big, fake smile plastered onto his scarred lips. It's the kind of smile that adults give belligerent children who don't know any better. It's condescending as all hell.

"Terribly, uh, _sorry_ about Happy." He says slowly, as if he was picking his words with extreme care. "He tends to get a little… _carried away_."

He giggles, as if it's some sort of joke. His henchmen look at one another silently, exchanging what they believe to be the same thought about their boss. It's very nearly the truth, if not for the few extra elaborations Tweedle-Dum adds to his own stream of consciousness.

_Fuckingcrazysonofabitch_.

I blink and swallow thickly, trying to convince myself I didn't hear it. Trying to pay attention to what's happening, instead of getting lost in such angry, deteriorated thoughts. One of these men is _severely_ fucked in the brainpan. Maybe more than one of them. _Probably_ more than one of them.

"You don't mind be a little, _tiny_ _bit_ late getting home, do you?" The Joker asks one of the sniveling girls near the back, and she hiccups pitifully before nodding.

He smiles and pats her head. She whimpers and bursts into tears. She thinks that he's going to kill her, and that she'll never see her parents again. That she'll never get that date with the cute boy from her science class. I shake my head, clearing it of sorrows that aren't my own, but that are fairly similar.

My attention is torn from my thoughts when Grumpy slams on the breaks. Words form in my mouth before I can stop them. They echo from Tweedle-Dee's own desire to scream, and they come to the fore with my lack of control.

"Watch it, asshole! Unlike you, we don't _exactly_ get seatbelts." The outburst is over as quickly as it begins, and in that moment, I'm not the only one cursing my own stupidity.

I let my eyes dart over to where the Joker is standing, and it's no surprise that I have his attention, now. Tweedle-Dum, better known as _Happy_, is pointing his nine-millimeter right at my forehead. I swallow thickly, shaking practically to the core. Some of the kids think I deserve what's coming.

"Sorry," I say breathlessly, mentally pleading to whatever god there is that I make it through today. "I tend to get carried away."

A laugh escapes the Joker, and he shifts so that he's standing by Happy's side with an amused expression plainly on his face. His hand lays across the nine-millimeter, and he pushes it down slowly. The boss gives the other man a scolding look before turning his attention back to me. He waves briefly over his shoulder for his henchmen to get back to their jobs, and the bus shifts into drive, again.

I don't take my eyes off of him as he slips into the empty space next to me. I press back against the window, and he smiles and tilts his head, hazel eyes scanning over me rapidly. I take him in, right back, and he seems to shift so that I can get a better look. Like getting the full view will make me feel better.

But seeing the many tools hidden on the inside of his jacket is anything but comforting.

After we finish sizing one another up—not that there's much to me, when compared to him—he moves into a more comfortable position. Slinging his arm across the back of polyester seat, he slumps and gives me a dry look. I flinch away when his hand almost brushes my shoulder.

"What's your name, blondie?" He asks, seemingly disinterested.

I know that it's an act. He wouldn't have bothered asking if he wasn't curious. Or just really, really bored.

"Micaela." I respond flatly, trying to keep a level tone, when all I really want is cry, scream, or pull my own hair out. Anything but talk to a sociopathic murderer.

He chuckles and takes my hand, shaking it quickly with enthusiasm. "The Joker. Nice to _meet_ you."

I refrain from snapping back with a cold 'not really' because I have a feeling that it would get me shot. Or stabbed. Or both.

I stick with a casual, noncommittal nod.

His eyes glimmer, and he still has a tight hold on my hand, even as I try to tug away. "So, _Micaela_…" It's like he's testing out my name on his tongue, and his face scrunches like it's too bitter. "Mind if I, uh, call you Mickey?"

"_What_?" He wants to give me a _nickname_? What kind of lunatic _does_ that?

"Yeah," his smile broadens, and he finally lets go of my hand as I try to squirm back even more. "Mickey. It's much more…_ playful_. You're playful, aren't you, Mickey?"

I shake my head vehemently. He doesn't seem to care, and he inches a bit closer.

"Aren't you, ah, _curious_ as to where we're going, _Mickey_?" He asks, a smirk appearing on his red lips, and he licks them slowly. A cat toying with a mouse.

"Curiosity killed the cat," I mumble, barely registering the actual statement I was making.

He grins, but speaks in a chiding tone. "It's _okay_ if you're curious, Mickey. In fact, it's _normal_."

He licks his lips again, and I let my eyes follow the movement; there's a hum about him that's scary and frighteningly mad. Like he's thinking everything at once. There's so much that it leaves me kind of dazed when I finally decide to speak, again.

"Too bad I'm not normal."

Something ghosts across his eyes. It's gone before I can figure out what it is. His brow cocks up, and he leans even closer, like we're about to share some big secret. He opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by the sound of screeching tires.

The big bus lurches painfully to the left as Grumpy takes a sharp right. I gasp and slip forward in my seat, until I knock into the Joker's side. He grips the backs of the bus seats, keeping himself in place, even as his other two cronies topple over. A new kind of fear erupts within the other teenagers.

When the turn is finally complete, the Joker glares over at Grumpy. The look says a lot of things, but 'you'll be getting a Christmas bonus' is not one of them. His attention falls back to me as I scramble to push away, bloodied palms pressing against his jacket as I maneuver my way back against the window. He seems amused all over again, and I'm just scared because there's a blotch of crimson on his shoulder.

"_Shit_," I hiss, and his gaze follows mine—if anything, his smile gets _bigger_. Which only increasingly frightens _me_.

My anxiety levels have officially spiked. Thoughts and scenarios are flashing through my mind so quick that I can't see straight. Everything is on overdrive, and I hope that I don't burn out before I get the chance to escape with the rest of the hostages.

There's an apology on my lips, but he cuts me off at the start. "Why is there blood on my jacket, Mickey?"

I don't get it until that moment that he's concerned I've been shot. Why he would care is beyond me. I hold out my hands for his keen inspection. He takes them, studying the four crescent shapes in each one, and I see a frown mar his face for the first time. For some reason, I don't think it will be the last time, either.

Through the fear, I think about how warm his hands are.

"I got a bit frazzled," I state slowly, unsure how he'd react. "Guns, and all. Made me nervous."

He nods, eyes still trained on the palms of my hands. "Well, aren't you just one _big_ contradiction, _Mickey_? One second you're skittish as a bunny, and the next—screaming at my driver."

I don't know how to respond to that, so I don't. His hazel eyes glance up to meet mine, and I slip my hands out of his reluctantly. I ignore the part of me that buzzes with an excited little thrill. Ignore it and stamp it down harshly.

Suddenly, we're turning into some warehouse. It's dimly lit, and it's practically empty, except for the occasional box or trash. The Joker's standing abruptly, pulling me up by the arm. He's headed for the main door and I guess I'm going with. I couldn't help but glance back at all of the other students, eyes pleading for naught. They couldn't do anymore than I was. He snaps some orders to Grumpy, hits the lever that opens the doors, and then tugs me through down the steps.

I stumble after him, glancing around, searching for any sign of a safe exit. There was none in sight, but I kept up my vigil search. I spare quick look back at the bus, finding the other students being ushered off at gunpoint. I pray that everything will be all right. That they'll not doing anything stupid, and get shot, and die.

"You're not going to hurt any of them, are you?" It's an idiotic question, but I need to know.

He stops for a moment, turns and faces me with a peculiar look on his face. "You're really more worried about them?"

I don't hesitate before nodding.

He makes a small choking sound, scoffing at me as he turns away and continues to drag to some unknown part of the warehouse. He mutters something under his breath, but I can't make much of anything out. I'm far too busy dragging my feet.

Rather abruptly, he pulls me into a very well lit room, and my eyes protest at the sudden change. He feels my falter, and quickly guides me over to a messy desk, and pushes me down into a small office chair. Making his way around the desk, he sits down, and promptly props his feet up—knocking papers off the hardwood, in the process.

"So, _Mickey_…" He smiles at me, folding his hands over his stomach casually.

My temples are throbbing, and all I really want is a hot, hot bath. "This is all just to let the Batman know that you're back, isn't it?"

"_Why_ would you ask something like _that_?" He replies with a grin, licking his lips.

"Because it's true, isn't it." I say boredly. It's less of a question and more of a statement.

Heaving a sigh, and giving me a pointed look that says I'm no fun at all, he nods. "A message to the Bat."

Something must have passed over my face because, the next thing I know, the Joker is narrowing his eyes at me threateningly. "Don't _do_ that, Mickey."

Genuinely confused, my brows practically shoot into my hairline. "Do what?"

He sits up straighter in his chair, swinging his feet back down to the floor. "You're _planning_. Trying to, ah, _fix_ things. Things that don't need to be _fixed_."

"_You're kidding_," Skeptical is the only was to describe my expression.

"Not at all," he smiles, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk. "I don't like _planners_, Mickey. But I like _you_."

And there go those precious few brain cells I had left.

"You _what_?" He laughs, giving me an endearing look.

"_I like you_," he states again, and I want to scream because this is just weird. "I like contradictions. _Paradoxes_, if you will. You fit that bill perfectly, _Mickey_, dear."

I shake my head, already denying it. "You just _met_ me."

There's a frighteningly intelligent spark in his eyes. "You'd be, um, _surprised_ how much you can tell in the first few minutes."

I faintly wonder if he can tell I'd done my own time in Arkham when I was younger.

I cross my arms self-consciously, and he follows the movement with his eyes. He seems satisfied to have shaken me up. I scowl darkly, and his lips twitch. He's got me right where he wants me.

"I like you, Mickey." He says again, conviction staining his voice. "You have no _point_. You're like _me_. You're like the _Bat_. The only, uhm, _difference_ is that you don't have something to give you _purpose_ like the Bat and I do."

I try to protest. I have a point. Really, I do. I just don't know what it is.

The Joker stands, brushing his hair out of his face as he rounds the desk to kneel before me, and his voice lowers to a determined whisper. "I want to be around when you get that _purpose_, Mickey. That _immovable object_ to your _unstoppable force_. It'll be a thing of… _beauty._"

I shiver as his hazel eyes darken and rake over my petit form. My chest suddenly feels quite heavy, and I press back against the chair harder. Trying to put space between us, no matter how marginal it may be.

He giggles and reaches into his pocket, and I know there's a knife coming before I even see it. I squirm, eyes already pleading, and he stills me with a strong hand on my knee. It squeezes, drifts higher, and stops when I go rigid. His eyes never leave mine as he inches closer, licking his lips in a completely different way than any of the other times before.

My breath hitches and sticks in my throat.

"Don't be _scared_." He commands, and I know I'm starting to shake, even as he gestures to his face with the knife hand. "Now… I know you've noticed my _scars_. I'm sure you're wondering… just _where_ they came from."

"Not really." I deadpan, but there is a definite quiver in my voice.

"Oh, shh… I don't _bite_." He grins cheekily, as if he was letting me in on some private joke. "C'mon, _Mickey_. Aren't you just… _curious?_"

My jaw clenches and I inhale sharply as he gives my thigh a quick squeeze. "_Fine_. Please, Mr. Joker, sir… I'm just _dying_ to know where you got those scars from."

He slumps before me, lower lip rounding slightly as he pouts up at me. "Now, _Mickey_… I like _feisty_, but I don't like _rude_. You're taking all of the, hmm, _fun_ out of it."

"Sorry to be such a killjoy," I reply with a bitter little smile, and I wonder if being afraid always made you snippy. Or if it was just me. "But I can't be the life of the party all of the time."

The Joker doesn't look so sure. In fact, he looks like he wants to prove me wrong. He doesn't push it, though, and he releases my leg and tucks his knife away as he stands. I stare up at him in silent question, and he offers up a smile.

"I'd trade Batman in for you, any day." And I'm pretty sure that's the biggest complement I've ever received. Because Batman is the Joker's purpose. And it's also the creepiest thing I've ever heard. Because the Joker _just met me_.

Clearing my throat awkwardly, I stood, and he didn't step back, leaving us practically chest to chest. "Well… I don't know about that. You'd be giving up all of that skintight body armor and that deep gravelly voice, remember?"

He leers, eyes drifting down extra slow; just to make sure I knew he was _really_ looking. "I'd still get the better, ah, _deal_."

"Right," it leaves me kind of breathlessly, and I sidestep the Joker, putting as much space between us as possible.

He frowns, unhappy about the larger proximity.

"So…" I say, already backing up towards the door. "If this is about letting the Batman know you're back… When is he supposed to get here? Because I have an English essay to write, and I'd really like to get home."

A very serious look comes over him, and he _slinks_—because there isn't another word for it—over to me. His eyes are alight with mischief. I don't trust it one bit. All of the hairs on the back of my neck are sticking up, and I can feel the danger licking at my heals.

"Now, you have to promise you won't get mad," he muttered, mouth already beginning to curl up, again.

"For what—?"

I let out a startled yelp as he jerks me around by the shoulder, pulling me flush against his back as he presses a blade to the base of my throat. It's ice cold, but it feels like it's on fire as he applies the barest amount of pressure. I swallow thickly and squeeze my eyes shut.

He laughs softly, hot breath caressing my skin as his lips brush the shell of my ear. "Sorry, _Mickey_. But I need a little, uh, _leverage_ when it comes to the Bat. Don't worry, though. If it comes down to it, I promise to make it _fast_."

The reassurance of a quick, painless death is not a confidence stirrer.

He waddles forward, guiding me out the door and back into the main warehouse. The walk is short, and each time I misstep even the slightest, that knife digs into the tender flesh of my throat. My heart is hammering away in my chest, and I swear that the Joker can hear it.

We end up in front of all the students, and two henchmen have been added to the original three. My classmates are looking up at me, scared for my life. Scared that they might be next. I can only hope that none of them will _have_ to be.

"Let her go, Joker." A rough voice growls, and the aforementioned Joker tightens his hold on me.

My eyes dart over to a darkly cloaked figure. The Joker twists us so that we're facing the Batman, and my shirt rides up slightly. I tremble as rough fingers glide over the skin there, and I've never been so afraid in my entire life.

"Well, that kind of _defeats_ the purpose of a _hostage_ if I just, uh, _let her go_." He responds tauntingly. "And besides… She's quite a _treat_. I don't think I _want_ to let her go."

There's a flash of silver, and then a burning sensation in my right arm, and I let out a loud curse as the Joker grunts behind me. The Batman tries to advance, but the knife pinches at my neck, and I let out a cry as my mortality hangs precariously in the balance.

Anger and frustration roll across the Joker in waves. I know that he's wounded by the way he shifts me away from his hurt side, and I'm sure that he's glaring at the Batman from behind me. Hell, _I_ was almost glaring at the Batman.

The really _hurt_.

"Just let the kids _go_, Joker." He steps out from the shadows all Prince of the Night-like. "Let the girl go."

"Wouldn't you like to know her name Batty?" He asks and that empty, dirty hand comes up to cup my chin. "I think you would because… it just makes it so much more _personal_." He licks his lips again, tongue just brushing my ear, and I shudder. "It's Micaela. Now, the reason I've chosen her out of all her other fine classmates is because, Micaela is very much like you and me."

"Joker, just let her and the rest of them go," He's taken another few steps forward.

I look over to see all guns pointed at him. Like that'll do any good. He's got these fuckers in the bag already. I can see the matching red lasers pointing for their kneecaps. That's going to hurt. And it's going to be very effective.

"You see… That's the problem, _Batty_," Joker replies shortly, obviously getting quite irate. "I don't _want_ to."

Just then, with everyone else so distracted, one of the other hostages stands and makes a move. He's buff; just another Senior football star. I know this one, though. I tutor this one. I let out a sharp scream as Grumpy turns his gun on Chris and shoots him in the leg.

All hell breaks loose.

Gunfire rains through the room, sweeping henchmen off of their feet. The Joker tosses me aside, and I hit the pavement with harsh thunk. My head bounced quite nicely, too. With a groan, I roll over and watch as the Bat surged forward, ready to attack the Joker, even as the brightly colored man and his minions started on the retreat.

Loyal as dogs, those minions were

Bullets are still flying, even as the SWAT team is in, ushering my peers out as fast as they can. I try to move, but a wave of nausea overwhelms me, and I decide to wait for someone to come get me. It's their job, damnit.

I let out a small scream as a bullet almost hits me. There's a rush of adrenaline. Heart's pumping and I'm watching things go by me in a blur of action. They're fighting. I can't even tell who's who anymore. My pulse is thick and vibrating through my skull. I can only imagine the migraine I'm going to have the next day.

Then, it's over. Just like that. Joker's making his escape and Batman is slipping into the shadows as a police officer makes his way towards me. He says something about getting me to an ambulance. I really can't make it out because everything is swimming and swirling together. My thoughts are even louder than usual.

So loud, in fact, that I don't even notice that I'm all stitched up and sitting in a hospital bed. I'm very much sure that blackouts weren't good after a bump on the head. I have a distinct eerie feeling that I'll be staying the night in the peroxide smelling room.

I glance over at the cot next to mine, and Chris smiles at me gingerly, quite drugged up, himself.

"Hey, Mickey." I honestly don't think that nickname will ever be the same.

I return the look, positive that I must appear just as worn out as he did. "Hey.

He glances around the room, fidgeting a moment before he finally croaks. "Were you scared?"

Varsity football player looking white as a sheet because of little clowning around… Never gets old.

"Yeah…" I nod, but I don't think it helps. "Hey… Why don't you get some rest, okay? I'll still be here in the morning.

He brightens at that, content to have a companion for the night. He snuggles into his covers, eyes drifting shut before he finally fell asleep.

I feel my own tiredness creeping up on me, but I know that I probably shouldn't fall asleep until I know if I have a concussion or not. And there wasn't a doctor to tell me. With a sigh, I shuffle around in my pockets to find my cell phone. Pulling it out, a puzzled look crosses my features as something unfamiliar slips out with it.

A Joker card. With a badly written message on the back.

'_See you soon_.'

I let out a startled, pitiful laugh. I know it's hysteria, but it's still ridiculous. I get held hostage by a madman and become his _friend. _

My parents are going to _love_ this.

**Author's Note:** Completely edited. I hope you like the knew version because the old one sucked. 'Chess', this stories sequel, is a work in progress currently. I won't be publishing it until I finish two of the other WIPs I've got going, right now. And, you know, college apps.

Hope you all liked it.

Review,

Tara


End file.
